


flight suit

by tootsonnewts



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars, Eventual Smooches, Light Angst, M/M, lots of Adventure, rebel commander shiro, smuggler and general badass keith, we all have a good time and go home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-02-16 21:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13062753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsonnewts/pseuds/tootsonnewts
Summary: Keith leans back, reconnecting their eye contact. Just like that, they’re back to that place Keith tries to push away when he can’t sleep. They’re back in a time where they always had each other’s back like this and there was no question as to what would come next. It’s startling that they can still have these liminal moments where they discuss, debate, and decide with no words. It’s heart-wrenching. He shakes his head and dispels the thoughts. Things are better off now. They’re better off now. He almost believes it.a star wars au.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've seen the last jedi three times so far, and BOY DO I HAVE OPINIONS.

Heavy smoke hangs over the bar, laying low with a cloying sweetness that dances just on the right edge of choking. The hum of conversation and gambling nearly drowns out the three piece band of Ortolans playing lilting tunes in the corner. Every few minutes, new patrons spill through the open front door, laughing or scowling in the hopes of escaping their day through the woozy fuzz of alcohol.

He's not entirely sure what his contact looks like, so in lieu of watching the door like a rookie, Keith focuses on tracing the rim of his drink and reading over his data pad. He doesn't have to wait long before another cup is gingerly placed down across from him. He traces up the hand that lingers on the metal surface of the table to look into the face of its owner, but they're draped in a heavy woven cloak, shadow obscuring their face.

“You must be Snips,” a familiar deep bass voice rumbles from beneath the hood. In his line of work, Keith has learned two things: never put your back to a door and always play it cool. He leans back in his chair, throwing an arm casually across the back (as casually as one can when faced with a ghost from their past, anyway).

“Depends who's asking,” he says and drains his cup. He knows who’s asking. They both know he knows who’s asking. They both pretend they don’t. They’ve been pretending for a while, anyway. They’re good at it.

His contact lowers their hood, revealing a flash of shocking white bangs atop jet black hair, sharp charcoal grey eyes, and a horizontal scar slashed across his nose. A scar he’s traced many times over in the middle of restless nights with the gentle tips of fingers. A scar he watched the man earn. He hasn’t seen that face in months. It’s still a very good face.

“Black Paladin,” the man answers, holding a large palm out in greeting. That name, too, is something he hasn’t dealt with in awhile. Keith snorts at him and eyes the hand until the signal is received and it drops back down.

“I can’t believe you’re still using that ridiculous call sign,” he snipes on the back end of his dismissal.

Black Paladin smiles across the table, bright white and shining, and leans forward conspiratorially. The action hits Keith squarely in the solar plexus. “Between you and me, this is the first time I've enlisted this kind of...service. I thought it appropriate, _Snips_.”

Keith raises an eyebrow at the emphasis Paladin places on his market name. Even after so many months apart, he’s still got the ability to make Keith feel ridiculous over the littlest things.

“Well, it's not like you're hiring an escort. Think of me as your friendly neighborhood courier.”

It's Paladin’s turn to cock a brow as he utters a short, dispassionate, “Courier.”

Keith sighs. He knows the aversions the man holds to his current occupation. It’s an argument they’d had many times in another life. Contrary to their ringing screaming matches on patchwork bases and in the middle of stars, it’s the most necessary directive he’s followed in some time. He controls his own movement, his missions, what jobs he takes. He alone is responsible for his survival and success. Nobody depends on him; he can let nobody down. It’s best this way.

“Look, buddy, let's cut to the chase here. According to the details you sent me earlier, this should be a pretty simple job. I want half of the credits upfront, you can give me the rest when we're done.”

“Buddy,” Paladin deadpans. His jaw tightens in the way it always does when he tries to hold back his displeasure, but Keith is nothing if not an expert at reading the man’s body language. His shoulders tense up in anticipation of the argument he knows this will start, but a change in the timbre of the surrounding chatter draws his attention away.

Keith glances over the man’s shoulder just in time to spot two Imperial Agents casually threading their way through the crowd. They’re dressed in the way of the locals, but it’s just off the mark - too clean, too well-coordinated. They stick out no matter how well they’ve studied, and it catches the attention of multiple patrons. He focuses his sight back across the table at his companion, Paladin’s mouth open and ready to lob a new accusation Keith’s way.

“Not here,” he answers, taking Paladin by the hand and dragging him out of his seat toward his lap. “For now, you’re going to play it cool and follow my lead. I know that’s impossible for you, but give it a shot, Golden Boy.”

Paladin shoots him a sharp look, but Keith schools his features enough to convey his need. A moment of understanding flashes across Paladin’s features and he relents, seating himself across Keith’s knees. They both ignore the shudders that tear themselves through twin sets of thighs. Ignorance is bliss, as they say.

Keith reaches back to the table for his datapad. He flicks it on and opens up the contract proposal, pretending to go back over details with his new companion. He crookedly smiles down at the screen and flicks a curious gaze up at Paladin’s face. Reaching up, he drags a gloved palm down the man’s jawline. Paladin flinches away from the touch at first, but Keith flexes his bare fingertips, enough to get his point across.

Still smiling, he leans toward Paladin, gesturing at the pad with his chin. “Play along, please, sweetheart.”

Paladin’s face relaxes under his touch, and he returns Keith’s smile, speaking through clenched teeth. “Still making friends, I see. Well, _darling_ , what are we doing?”

Keith cuts another look past Paladin’s chest and makes eye contact with one of the Agents. In a flashfire instant, the room falls away as the man recognizes his face. _Shit._ Keith watches him raise a communicator to his mouth and call for his partner and they’re out of time. Keith drags Paladin’s legs around until he’s straddling his lap, face hovering inches away from his own.

“What do you have?”

Paladin glances casually over his shoulder at the Agents, feigning a laugh, and squirming in Keith’s lap enough to press the bulges of his thigh holsters into the legs below him. He returns his focus to Keith, casually draping his forearms over his shoulders and leaning in to whisper in his ear, lips dragging along the shell.

“I have enough.”

Keith leans back, reconnecting their eye contact. Just like that, they’re back to that place Keith tries to push away when he can’t sleep. They’re back in a time where they always had each other’s back like this and there was no question as to what would come next. It’s startling that they can still have these liminal moments where they discuss, debate, and decide with no words. It’s heart-wrenching. He shakes his head and dispels the thoughts. Things are better off now. _They’re better off now._ He almost believes it.

“You remember what she looks like?”

“Better than you know.”

“Then I’ll see you there.”

Paladin drops a kiss to his cheek.

“Of course you will.” He flicks open his holsters and pulls out matching blasters, lithely spinning himself off of Keith’s lap and to his knees, training them on the Agents. The men react in kind, but spare no thoughts to the patrons surrounding them in the bar. They pull out blaster rifles and immediately fire off shots in Paladin and Keith’s direction.

Keith rolls from his seat, kicking the table on its side and ducking behind it. He reaches into his waistband for his own blaster and takes a steadying breath. Two shots ricochet off the metal protecting his body and to his left, Paladin grunts as he kicks off the ground and lunges forward into the bar, more Imperial Agents pouring in through the door.

“Drop your weapons!” their Captain shouts, but it’s much too little much too late. The Black Paladin has his name for a reason. He deftly shoulders through the throng, surgically directing blaster shots and clearing a path for Keith to hop over the overturned table and dart out of the building, throwing blasts off behind him to help eliminate the threat.

Once outside, Keith steadies himself through the rhythmic pounding of his boots hitting the ground as he sprints down the street, turning off in an alleyway to head back toward Red. He nears the warehouse district where he left her and slams his hand down on his wrist communicator, dropping the bay door open so he can clamber up and start the engines. He flips the switches to engage her thrusters, toggles his control panel to charge up the hyperdrive cells, and pokes at the plastic wookiee on his dash, making its furry little hips wiggle.

He focuses in on the task at hand so much that he doesn’t even flinch when the soft _thunk thunk_ of Black Paladin’s steps strolling up the ramp resound through the cockpit of his ship. He completes the startup sequence, all systems engaged and ready to go, and as he raises the entry ramp and lifts Red from the ground, Agents gathering below her belly firing useless shots at her hull, a heavy hand rests on his shoulder.

“Keith.”

Keith sucks in a harsh breath. It’s been so long since he’s heard that voice say his name that he forgot what it felt like. He forgot how he was supposed to react. He squeezes his eyes closed, blinking away the collecting moisture, and pulls the ship away from the planet’s surface. As soon as Red punches through the atmosphere, Keith calculates his hyperspace coordinates, and slams his hand down on the button to engage their jump. Finally, as they whip away toward safety, he turns in his chair, making eye contact with the object of his hopes and regrets for very nearly a year now.

“Shiro.”

The metallic fingers of a long-accepted prosthetic drag through Keith's hair, root to tip, shoulder to spine, and he shivers at the phantom of what that touch once meant. He shivers at the implications of what it still does to him. It’s damn near Pavlovian, his response. Keith tries to feel shame, but he’s unable to dredge even a single shred up from his churning gut. He looks up into Shiro’s eyes, shining back at him, full of fondness and the lightest touch of wistfulness. Keith studies his face in the red-blue light of his cockpit’s switch panels. At this angle, Shiro looks impossibly aged - years older than he actually is. He looks just about as old as Keith feels.

“You’ve let it grow,” Shiro says contemplatively, fingering the split ends that slip between his fingertips.

Keith snorts, turning his head away from the touch. “Kinda hard to worry about a haircut these days.”

“I dunno,” Shiro returns, running his hand through his own hair. “I manage just fine.”

Keith scowls up at him. It’s been so easy for him to forget the little things about Shiro that made his body burn for him. His idiosyncrasies, his deliberateness, his bullshit asshole flight academy humor. The ease with which he can still exhibit these behaviors is infuriating.

“Good for you,” Keith grumbles, turning back to the controls and checking on their flight status. “Sit down, we’re a parsec out and she’s a little shaky on the drop out of hyperspace sometimes.”

“I almost forgot how fast Red moves,” Shiro notes reverently as he drops into the co-pilot’s chair.

Keith smiles and strokes the steering column lovingly. “Fastest little lady this side of Coruscant.”

The ship drops smoothly out of hyperspace just above their target, an abandoned Galactic outpost on the Outer Rim. Keith pulls the ship into a holding pattern just outside the atmosphere and runs a quick planet scan, checking for Empire activity on the surface. The planet checks out clean and he turns to Shiro.

“Alright Paladin, what’s the directive?”

Shiro’s spine stiffens, adopting the posture he wears when he’s got work to do and a mission to complete. He brings up a map of the planet’s surface on his visual comlink and zooms in to the planet’s surface. The picture settles in to a singular point not too far from where they hover.

“We need to land on the far end of the base, there’s a hidden hangar we can park in without being noticed. And, please don’t call me that.”

Keith quirks an eyebrow and tilts the steering column forward, bringing them down planetside.

“Would you prefer Commander, _sir_? I heard about your promotion.”

Shiro turns pink at the question and fervently shakes his head. “Definitely don’t call me that. At least not right now.”

Keith snorts again. He’s been doing a lot of that today. He brings Red in under the hidden awning that Shiro pointed out and stands from his seat.

“If it helps, you can keep calling me Snips.”

He makes to push past Shiro, slapping the button for the bay door, but he’s stopped short by a firm grasp around his wrist. Keith does his best to stifle the reflexive snarl that builds in his throat from the unexpected touch and spins around to regard Shiro again. His face is set, hardline and stoic, but his brows are scrunched up in the way they often are when he’s trying to best choose the words that match his thoughts.

“It doesn’t help,” he murmers, sliding his hand down to grasp at Keith’s fingers. “I don’t want to keep doing this.”

Keith pulls his hand free and whips away, striding off the ship and into the hangar.

“That’s not something I can help you with, Shiro.”

Shiro clomps down the ramp after him, catching up with long strides and grasping onto his wrist once more. He tugs Keith to a stop, pulling him around to face him once more, and Keith feels his agitation rising. Shiro has to know. He’s got to see it written all over his stance and posture and face, but if he does, he ignores it.

“It’s something _only_ you can help with. Keith, please.”

Keith breaks out of his grip again, walking back to grab a flashlight and shut the cargo bay door. He takes too much of his frustration out on Red, slamming his fist on the button to raise the ramp, and he swears he hears her rumble in disapproval at him. He pets her hull in apology and turns back around, avoiding Shiro’s gaze and walking deeper into the darkened building.

“We’ve discussed this. Things are better this way.”

Shiro sighs behind him.

“No, Keith. They’re really not. And you’re going the wrong way.”

Keith stops in the middle of the hallway, dragging a hand down his face. His shoulders are damn near ear level with how hard he’s trying to control his posture and conceal his feelings. True, Shiro’s not a Jedi, but damn if he doesn’t have the uncanny ability to read right into the very core of Keith’s soul. Keith blows out his breath and spins around, holding out the flashlight.

“Then lead the way, Commander.”

Shiro’s eyes harden and narrow, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he turns on his heel and marches down the hallway. They walk in silence, hands hovering over their respective weapons just in case their intel proves incorrect. As they turn corners and work their way deeper into the heart of the base, Keith starts to feel the prickling in his spine that tells him something is off.

He keeps his thoughts to himself for the time being, but as they move, Shiro’s shoulders begin to tighten. That’s when Keith knows he feels it, too.

“We’re almost there,” Shiro announces, looking at the map on his comlink. “You’re ready, right?”

“Of course I am,” Keith scoffs. “Just get me to my target.”

For the briefest second, Shiro looks amused. “Yes, sir.”

They turn one final corner and come to the main communications room of the base. Through the grimy windows, Keith can see the years of abandon draped across the equipment like old silk, a film of disrepair and dust collected over every surface. Most of the room’s been gutted, but in the very back, Keith spots what they came for - the old data transmitter unit, busted up, but mostly intact.

Keith walks up to the room’s entrance, unzipping one of the pouches on his belt and extracting his tools. He pops the door to the code panel locking the entrance and takes stock of what he’s working with. Second generation wiring, worn down connections, the barest blip of power running through the panel. This should be cake. He grabs a small screwdriver and lightknife and sets to work.

“So what I don’t understand,” he begins conversationally as he cuts a wire and re-routes it, “is why the rebellion needed to contract _me_ specifically.”

Shiro sucks in a harsh breath.

“There were plenty of other people for the job,” Keith continues, tying off his changes. The entry panel beeps and the door to the control room swishes open. He gestures for Shiro to enter ahead of him. Shiro flexes his metal hand and sweeps in, staring Keith down as he passes. Keith stares right back, keeping his face impassive. “Hell, I know you have _droids_ that can do what I do.”

“I requested you,” Shiro admits, but it doesn’t really sound like an admission.

“I assumed,” Keith answers, strolling in behind him and heading directly to the transmitter unit. “I think you know what I’m asking, though.”

Keith kneels down and pops the cover off of the bottom of the unit, setting it off to the side. He shucks his jacket off and lays it down on the ground before laying his back down on top of it to look up into the rusty machine’s insides. He shimmies himself back so his head is poked into the bottom of the unit and starts digging around.

Shiro crosses his ankles and leans back against the side of the unit. “I know what you’re asking. You know my answer.”

Keith snorts. Again. There’s something to be said, he thinks, about how often Shiro makes him do that. He shoves his arm up through the machine and grabs the central memory unit, tugging it out of its harness and pulling it back down. He sticks his arm out and lets Shiro scoop it out of his hand before he tugs himself out of the unit and pops up off the floor, dusting off his face and grabbing his jacket.

He rolls his shoulder and slides his arms into the sleeves, Shiro watching the movement of his muscles bunching under the fabric. He studies Shiro’s face for a moment, the staredown thick with history and tension and so many things left unspoken.

“I’m not coming back, Shiro.”

Shiro reaches out with his human hand, wiping a trail of dust from Keith’s cheek.

“We need you, Keith.” There’s an admission in there that Shiro is still too proud to let slip and Keith is still too stubborn to read between the lines to find.

“You don’t need me. The rebellion is doing just fine without me around to mess things up.”

“But _I’m_ not,” Shiro says quietly. So much for pride. His hand is still on Keith’s cheek, thumb ghosting back and forth over the sharp jut of bone. Every ounce of Keith’s strength pours into the herculean task of not pushing into the touch. Shiro knows. Keith can tell he knows in the twitch of an eye and the quirk of a lip. “Come back to us, Keith. Come back to me.”

Keith exhales heavily and steps back, out of range of Shiro’s grasp and away from the hooks threatening to tear into his heart once again.

“You know I can’t.” Keith turns and leaves the room and a stiff Shiro behind. “We got what you hired me for. I can drop you off at the next outpost.”

Keith stalks down the hallway back in the direction they came, and he almost lets himself believe that that’s finally the end of it when a strong arm swoops around his waist from behind, easily lifting him up off the ground. His back is tugged against a warm, solid, heaving chest, and Shiro’s forehead presses against the nape of his neck. The light wetness of tears splash against his skin, but he spares Shiro the indignity of acknowledging them. He squeezes his eyelids shut. He’s done so well. He was doing _so well._ His eyes well up again and he blinks them clear.

“Keith. _Baby._ Please.”

It’s a dirty trick, saying it like that. They both agreed that this was what was best. Well, okay, they both _sort of_ agreed, but Keith did what he had to do to keep the rebellion safe. That was of the utmost importance. It still is. He lets his body go ragdoll limp, forcing Shiro to set him down. He turns around in the other man’s arms, placing his palms over his chest.

“Shiro,” he tries, but Shiro’s eyes are scrunched closed against his words. “ _Takashi_ , look at me.”

His first name gets his attention and he snaps his eyes open. Keith smiles lightly.

“You know why I can’t come back. You know why it’s not safe.”

Shiro’s hand finds its way to the side of Keith’s neck.

“I miss you,” he says.

Keith closes his eyes. “I miss you, too.”

Then shit goes completely, utterly pear-shaped.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> may the 4th be with you!
> 
> the title has changed, and i can't promise a regular update schedule, but i have a definite direction with this lil baby now, and i'm very excited to get back to it! this chapter is a little on the shorter side, but it's gonna bridge us into the rest of the story's events. enjoy!

Luck is a concept never to be believed, in Keith’s experience. When his happens to run out, he is rarely( _if ever_ ) surprised. It’s this concept, more than anything else, that causes his eyes to roll the very second a gaggle of Stormtroopers round the corner.

“I don’t know what you’ve gotten me into,” Keith huffs, pulling his blaster from his waistband, “but you better get me right the hell out of it.”

“C’mon, baby,” Shiro coos in his direction. “I know how much you love excitement.”

Keith rolls his eyes. It’s a trademark of Shiro’s, ignoring the severity of a situation to flirt mercilessly with Keith. At least, it was a long time ago. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved or aggravated at Shiro’s consistency. Either way, he shoves the squirming in his gut aside - along with the comment - to aim quick shots over Shiro’s broad shoulder.

They sprint down the hallway, dodging blaster fire and taking shots of their own, clearing out the corridor in no time. For a group of heavily trained soldiers, Stormtroopers most certainly take every opportunity they can to miss a shot. It’s a wonder they ever take any prisoners at all, in Keith’s opinion.

Still, Keith can’t ignore the rush of adrenaline surging in his veins as he and Shiro rush through the base to Red. It reminds him of better times, less dangerous times, when the worst thing they worried about was which base they’d be sent to to assist with training new pilots. A time when being there for each other was enough.

Keith sends the signal to drop Red’s hatch as he and Shiro skid into the hangar and barrel toward her. Stray Troopers thunder in their wake, popping off the odd shot every few seconds in hopes of hitting one of them in the back. They’ve been at this for far too long for that to work. If there’s anything either of them are adept at, it’s keeping each other’s backs clear. That instinct never goes away no matter how much time you spend apart.

They throw themselves inside Red and Keith rushes to the controls, lifting her up and taking off as fast as he can. They punch through the planet’s atmosphere, and Keith immediately puts the ship into hyperdrive, aiming for the closest coordinates he’s familiar with. It’s a backwater system, mostly swampy planets and the odd trading outpost. He aims for the outpost he knows best, the one he visits when he needs information he just can’t find anywhere else.

Shiro draws up behind the captain’s chair as Keith parks the ship, setting his prosthetic arm down along the back of the seat. A rush of breath leaves him before he finally speaks up.

“You still contact Pidge?”

It’s odd, how confused and upset he sounds. Keith can’t help but to turn back and look at him. His eyebrows are screwed together, a slight downturn to the corners of his mouth. It’s a look Shiro used to get sometimes, a look that seemed like he was upset. That wasn’t the truth of it, though. Not really. Maybe now it is. Keith nods.

“But I still contact Pidge.”

Suddenly, it makes sense. The look does signify upset now. It means heartbreak. It means betrayal.

“She’s allowed to speak to multiple people, Shiro,” Keith answers. He tries so hard to keep his voice light, to keep the wavering tone away from his words, but it seeps in at the end. Keith has never been a good liar, least of all where Shiro was concerned.

“Don’t call me that,” Shiro snaps. His tone is sharp and pointed, but there’s a hint of a plea laid over it. Keith wants to give in. He wants to lay down in that voice, wrap himself in each syllable, sleep in its warmth. He cannot do that. He settles with reason.

“It’s your name.”

“Not for you.”

And there’s the crux of their relationship. It’s the singular point to which they can be boiled down; Shiro will always ask more of Keith than Keith is allowed to give him. Shiro will always make Keith special when he doesn’t deserve it at all. Keith looks intently into Shiro’s eyes. They’re swimming with hope, wide and glistening with held back tears. He can’t bare to look at them. Keith clears his throat and stands.

“She doesn’t have to tell you about me. It’s not her job.” He pushes past Shiro and waits outside for him to trudge behind, locking Red up with a loving pat. “Look, let’s just get this over with. Then we can be done with it.”

“Keith, I don’t want-”

“What we want doesn’t matter, Takashi.”

It’s enough to shut him up. Keith ignores the constricting of his heart and continues on.

Pidge’s bar is at the center of the planet’s capital, if one can even call it that. It’s more of a town square that outgrew its acreage, but it’s more than enough to suit the planet’s needs. The bar is a squat, lopsided thing, tucked in between a makeshift bakery and droid repair shop. The front windows are grimy, covered enough in a thick layer of crusted mud splatters and sand to keep most of the lamplight from escaping into the street. The constant scent of bread pours out from the front door, although Keith is hard-pressed to say whether or not she actually serves bread inside.

It’s been a while since he’s seen her, nearly as long as his separation from Shiro, and when last they spoke, their parting was slightly less than agreeable. Flexing his hands at his sides, Keith stops short of pushing in, taking a few steadying breaths in the doorway. Shiro pulls up beside him,arms crossed over his chest.

“You actually gonna go in, or is this part of what you do now?”

Keith cuts his eyes at Shiro. Shiro simply smirks back and sweeps the curtain hanging in the door aside, gesturing for Keith to enter first. He can’t really run away, so he squares his shoulders and steps inside. The bar is muggy and surprisingly quiet, which is unfortunate, because Pidge looks straight up from where she’s tending the counter. And immediately hurls a towel in Keith’s direction.

“You! I’m not done with you, you burnt out, laserbrained bantha fodder!”

She vaults the counter and storms up to Keith glaring with all her might as she approaches. She stops right in front of him with her chin held high and a sharp finger thrust in his chest. Her eyes drift over his shoulder, widening a fraction once she makes out his traveling companion.

“Well, hey there, Shiro. Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, Katie,” Shiro responds, amused. She smiles, but drops it quickly as she returns her focus to Keith. “But _you._ You still owe me an explanation!”

“Pidge, I’m sorry. Really. I just...it’s complicated. I really can’t give you one. I promise there was a reason I had to leave like that, but I can’t tell you.”

“He won’t even tell me,” Shiro pipes up. Pidge glares at Keith anew.

“Katie, _please,_ ” Keith begs. “I know what I did was awful, but I need you to trust me. I need your help.”

She stares him down, scanning his face for something he’s unsure of, but when she finds it, her shoulders drop. She throws her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down into her chest.

“I missed you so much.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, clutching onto her and ignoring the thickness in his throat. “Yeah, I missed you, too.”

“Great!” Pidge drops her arms. “Now whaddaya want?”

Shiro steps forward, leaning in close to her.

“Remember that thing I told you about?”

“I do, yeah.”

“We got it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but we hit a...snag.”

“A whole mess of ‘em,” Keith interjects. Shiro shoots him an exasperated look.

“So now, we need help getting the package back home.”

“Ah. You need my communicator,” Pidge says. “You coulda just said so. It’s where it’s always been.”

She gestures to the back of the bar, toward a small room blocked off by a real door. She’s always claimed she never sleeps there, but Keith isn’t so sure he truly believes her. Pidge was always the type to work herself to the bone and collapse wherever she stopped. He can easily imagine her ending up slumped over the desk, credits and information scattered across the surface.

It’s a tight fit, but Shiro and Keith manage to squeeze inside and arrange themselves carefully as they boot up her workstation. It’s an ancient thing, held together more by rust and wishes than anything, but Pidge is nothing if not resourceful. She knows how to make do with whatever is one hand.

Shiro withdraws the memory unit from somewhere in his clothing and connects it to the data port of the computer. The going is slow as the information uploads, but eventually it completes the process. Shiro enters the destination address and presses send with a flourish, snapping the memory unit once it’s disconnected from the workstation.

“And we’re good to go.”

“Fantastic,” Keith says without feeling. “Now let’s get you a ride home.”

“No need, I have one already.”

“Really? When did you call for one?”

Shiro cocks an eyebrow as Keith parses back through his memory to try and recall when Shiro had time to arrange for transport back to the Rebel’s central base. His toe taps while he waits for Keith to finish sifting, and as the realization dawns on Keith just what, precisely, Shiro meant, his mouth stretches into a sly smile.

“No.” Keith grits out. “No, no. Absolutely not. I told you I’m not going back with you, and that’s that. I helped you with your mission, your mission is accomplished, we’re done here.”

“Well, see,” Shiro says slowly, taking measured steps forward, “that’s where you’re wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

“I told you my mission at the beginning.”

“Yeah, get you in, help you get your intel, get you out.”

“That’s part of it.”

Keith narrows his eyes. He’s fairly certain he knows where this is going, but he’s hoping beyond hope that he’s wrong. Shiro doesn’t understand, he could never understand. True, part of his ignorance is Keith’s fault, but the rest? The pushiness, the inability to accept the reality of their situation? That’s all on Shiro.

“What’s the rest of it?”

“I requested you for this job. I did. But when the General found out that I tracked you down, he was...interested in your whereabouts.”

“You could use me, but you had to bring me back.”

Shiro nods.

“Blast it, Shiro! I _told you_ I couldn’t! I _told you_ I had to stay away! Why couldn’t you leave it alone? Why couldn’t you _trust me?!_ ”

“Because I had no idea what I was trusting you with!” Shiro shouts back. “You left me! You took everything with you!”

“I didn’t take anything with me!”

“You took the only thing I had left! You took _you_!” Keith’s mouth snaps shut. Shiro’s nostrils flare, tears leaking from his eyes, but he presses on. “You left and you were gone and everywhere I turned was a reminder of you, and the worst thing was that I couldn’t tell anyone _why_ you were gone! You just were! I lost you and I didn’t even know why! Hell, I still don’t, Keith!”

Shiro throws his arms around Keith, crushing him to his chest. Keith can’t fight the heaviness in his chest anymore, the tears spilling down his cheeks, the sobs wracking his body. He clutches Shiro and cries. Eventually, the tears slow. Hiccups take their place, but it doesn’t matter. Shiro holds Keith through it all, stroking thick fingers through his hair and whispering platitudes that Keith doesn’t deserve. He manages to scrape himself together enough to answer.

“I can’t tell you. If you know, you’re in danger. I _can’t_ tell you, Shiro.”

Shiro’s hand stills in Keith’s hair. Slowly, he pushes Keith away to look seriously into his eyes.

“Keith, what kind of trouble are you in?”

 

+++

 

_Keith reclines in his bunk, legs crossed, foot bouncing in the air as he reads over yet another flight manual. The latest class of starfighters are damn near mythical in advancements - faster speed, quicker reactions, fewer switches, predictive hyperdrive. They’re a marvel of modern technology and Keith can feel his mouth water at the chance to slip behind the controls of one._

_His communicator blips from his side table, pulling his attention away from the wiring harness blueprint he was examining. He ignores it, silencing the noise and returning to the manual. It chirps again, louder, with a voice call. Sighing, he tosses the manual aside and scoops it up._

_“Kogane.”_

_“Keith Kogane,” a guttural voice scapes across the line. Keith doesn’t recognize it, too grainy to properly make out. He sits up in his bed._

_“Who is this?”_

_“That is unimportant. You have something we need, Keith Kogane. You will report to the following coordinates.” Keith’s communicator blips with an incoming message. “You will bring no one. You will come unarmed.”_

_“I won’t do a damn thing.”_

_“You will, Keith Kogane. You have no choice.”_

_“Of course I have a choice. I choose to ignore whatever this stupid joke is.”_

_“Mmmm, but will pilot Shirogane appreciate that choice?” Keith’s blood runs cold in his veins. “He is out on a mission today, The Desev System, if I am not mistaken. It would be a shame should harm befall him, would you not agree?”_

_Keith grips the communicator so hard the plastic casing cracks. “Who the hell is this?!”_

_“You will find out when you arrive. You have one day.”_

 

+++

 

“You can’t know.”

“Maybe not,” Shiro says, tugging Keith back to his chest. “But you can’t make me leave. I have you back and I’m staying.”

“I can’t let you.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you don’t have a choice.”

“This is very sweet, really it is,” Pidge’s voice interrupts them from the doorway, “but we gotta get you boys outta here.”

Shiro steps away, leaving a hand on Keith’s shoulder. He smiles warmly down at Pidge. She looks pointedly at where his touch settles on Keith, clearing her throat for emphasis. Keith drops his shoulder so that Shiro’s hand slides off. Nonchalance has never been a good look on Keith, but damn if he doesn’t try for it. Pidge looks amused at his display.

“I’ve got you a clear shot out as long as you scoot in the next fifteen minutes.”

“Well then, I guess we best be going. Keith?” Shiro gestures for Keith to say his goodbyes and follow. Keith nods and turns back to Pidge. He opens his mouth, but doesn’t really know what to say. It doesn’t matter, Pidge is a master at cutting him off at the pass.

“I scanned Red, she’s clear.”

Keith breathes a sigh of relief.  

“Thanks, Katie.”

Pidge hugs him again, pressing her face directly into his chest.

“I don’t know why you left. I get that you have secrets. But, I’m glad you’re done hiding.”

“I didn’t really have a choice,” Keith mutters, settling a hand on her head.

“Maybe not. But maybe the rest of us deserved to have one, ya know?”

Keith sighs again, not so much relief this time.

“I know.”

“Now get outta here before I do something awful.”

She pulls away, shoving toward the door. On his way out, she snaps him with a towel.

“And, Keith!”

He turns back to look at her over his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“For the love of the galaxy, smooch Shiro already!”

“Buzz off, Katie!”

Her laughter chases him as he jogs down the road toward Red, her ramp already lowered to welcome him in. He slides into the captain’s seat, Shiro nestled into the navigator’s side. They stay quiet as Keith runs the ship through her start-up, engines whirring on either side of them. Shiro shifts in his seat to look seriously at him.

“Are you ready?”

“No.”

“...Take us home, Snips.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is a work of love for me, so i don't have a set update schedule right now, i'm sorry.  
> i just really love star wars and have a lot of headcanons, so we're getting them bad boys OUT.
> 
> please feel free to yell at me on [tumblr](http://tootsonnewts.tumblr.com/).  
> we can talk about how i'd let poe punch me in the face.


End file.
